Consciousness struggled to surface from the depths of endless, icy darkness.
The last sensations were the tearing plummet, the sharp night wind of Paris whipping across her face, and the malicious, decisive shove from behind. Three twisted faces overlapped in her mind: Lucas's feigned affection solidified into a cruel grin, her sister Clara's angelic smile was laced with poison, and her best friend Sofia's enthusiastic encouragement became a cold mockery. Why? The question plunged with her into the eternal void.
Bang!
Aria Russell shot upright, her heart hammering wildly in her chest, threatening to shatter her ribs. She gasped, her lungs burning, greedily sucking in air, each breath a shudder of survival.
The shattered bones and deathly silence she expected never came.
What met her eyes was the overly bright, almost blinding Barcelona afternoon sun, pouring in through her delicate, ivory-white blinds. The light outlined dancing motes of dust in the air, falling on the familiar cream-colored walls, the cheap Picasso reproduction, and the simple writing desk she had scavenged from a flea market when she first moved in. A few romantic novels and a beginner's Spanish textbook lay scattered on it.
Her desk. Her apartment. In Barcelona. The "love nest" Lucas had arranged for her near Passeig de Gràcia.
She raised her hands, trembling. Her skin was smooth and soft, her fingertips neat, without the frailty of someone who had been bedridden for weeks, and certainly without the broken mess and caked blood that should come from a hundred-meter fall. On her wrist, she wore the Tiffany heart bracelet Lucas had given her, a gift she once adored and now found brutally ironic.
This was not a dream. The sharp pain of her nails digging into her palms was brutally real, leaving crescent-shaped white marks.
She stumbled out of bed, her bare feet on the cold wooden floor, and rushed to the bathroom. In the mirror, an impossibly young face, pale with shock, stared back. Her long brown hair fell in messy strands over her shoulders, a few clinging to her sweat-soaked forehead. The large gray eyes she had inherited from her mother were filled with immense fear, confusion, and disbelief, like a fawn startled by a gunshot.
This was her. Three years ago. The her who had just accepted Lucas Gallardo's enormous diamond ring, the one who was filled with anticipation to become the future mistress of the Gallardo Construction family. The her who had meekly moved to Barcelona to begin a "new life." Foolish. Naive. Ridiculous.
A torrent of extreme pain, betrayal, and despair swept over her, countless fragmented memories assaulting her senses: Lucas speaking false vows in the moonlight; Clara stroking her engagement ring with a gaze of feigned envy, a cold jealousy burning deep in her eyes; Sofia linking arms with her, promising eternal support; that glittering gala in Paris; the door to the balcony; the three people she trusted most closing in on her; and in the end, the final, unhesitating shove!
"Ah!" A repressed, broken sob escaped her throat. She slid down onto the cold tile, hugging her knees, her body trembling violently. Tears gushed out, not from sadness, but from a rage, a cold terror of survival, and the extreme heat of hatred that threatened to consume her. She bit down hard on her arm to stop herself from crying out, tasting a faint metallic tang of blood.
She had died. And she was alive again. She had returned to a moment when everything was still salvageable.
After an unknown amount of time, the tears dried. The trembling finally stopped. An ice-cold, hard, diamond-like resolve rose from the ashes of her despair, gradually filling her limbs and driving out the last vestiges of weakness.
She stood up, splashed her face with cold water, and raised her head, looking at herself in the mirror again. The girl's eyes had completely changed. The fear and confusion were replaced by a kind of ruthless calm, with a dark, burning flame deep within. She ripped off the Tiffany bracelet and threw it into the sink, where it landed with a sharp clatter.
She had survived. She carried the full script of the next three years of her miserable life.
In this life, she would never again walk down the primrose path to her destruction. Lucas Gallardo? That engagement? He would be the first target to be completely crushed, cleanly and with no lingering consequences.
She would not simply refuse him. A fierce refusal would invite questions and continuous harassment. It would alert the three hidden vipers and might even push them to take more extreme measures sooner. She needed a flawless exit, one that would completely detach her from the engagement and earn her widespread sympathy and understanding. She needed to stand on a moral high ground as an irreproachable "victim."
The outline of a plan quickly formed in her mind, cold, bold, and perilous. She would use the vague memories of the Gallardo Construction scandals that eventually came to light, combining them with the information she could find now, to carefully fabricate a financial or quality scandal that the Gallardo family couldn't easily refute. She would be the perfect victim: a woman who "accidentally" discovered a horrifying truth, whose beliefs were shattered, and who had to painfully end her engagement and flee far away.
First, she needed information. She had to ensure every step of her plan was precise, leaving no trace back to her. Lucas was cunning, Sofia was clever, and Clara was not as harmless as she seemed.
She took a deep breath and walked out of the bathroom, her eyes falling on the phone that continued to vibrate on her nightstand. The screen lit up, showing one name: Sofia Martinez. It was followed by a string of enthusiastic fire emojis.
Aria's lips curled into a cold, bone-chilling smile. See? Hounds always have a keen sense of smell. In her previous life, Sofia had barraged her with messages every day, under the guise of helping her acclimate to her new environment, while subtly controlling her whereabouts and emotions. She did not answer. She let the call go to voicemail. Right now, she had no time or inclination to deal with this nauseating fake "friendship." She needed absolute silence and focus.
She returned to her laptop, her fingers cool but abnormally steady on the keyboard. Search engines, financial news websites, local forums, even anonymous business gossip sections. She was the most patient and cautious hunter, holding her breath, sifting through every potentially useful fragment of information: Gallardo Construction's recently won projects, their partner suppliers, vague statements in financial reports, and any small rumors about building material quality or approval processes.
Outside, the Barcelona sun shone brightly. Gothic spires outlined the blue sky, and the vibrant murmur of Latin languages drifted in from the street. But inside the apartment, Aria Russell's heart was completely encased in the ice of revenge, silently drawing a precise and dangerous blueprint for escape and counterattack.
The first destination became clear in her mind: Paris. The city where she had briefly studied and left an unfinished dream of literature. A city full of the scent of books and the spirit of freedom, a place where she could breathe. It was also the city where Léon Delacroix lived. Thinking of his name, her heart tightened with a complex feeling. In her past life, she had only met him a few times, during a small exhibition of lost manuscripts at Victor Hugo's house about Les Misérables. Their brief conversation had been beyond her expectations. His profound insights into literature and those gray-green eyes that seemed to see everything had left a breathtaking impression, but the vast gap in their social standing had kept her from ever having any other thoughts. In this life, she only wanted to be far away from all the whirlpools of her past, including him. Paris was big enough. She could get lost in the crowd.
However, the loom of destiny had already begun to weave a completely different, even more complex thread. She did not know that her carefully planned "accidental discovery" would create an unexpected chain reaction, forcefully drawing the man she was trying to avoid back into her life's trajectory.
The phone vibrated stubbornly again, Sofia's name still flashing on the screen. Aria took a deep breath, adjusted her breathing to make her voice sound just the right amount of tired and hoarse, and finally answered.
"Aria! My little sunbeam! You finally answered!" Sofia's enthusiastic voice almost burst through the receiver. "What happened the last two days? You haven't replied to any messages. I was so worried! Did that workaholic Lucas neglect you again? Tell me, I'll talk to him for you!"
The same old routine. A facade of concern masking an attempt to pry and stir up trouble. In her past life, she had been fooled by this "caring" facade, which had slowly fueled her resentment toward Lucas.
"Oh, Sofia," Aria made her voice sound weak. "It's nothing, maybe just a bit of jet lag. I've been dizzy and have no energy. I just want to sleep." She coughed lightly twice.
"My poor darling!" Sofia's tone immediately became overly sympathetic. "That's how the Barcelona weather is, you need to adjust! You have to get out and get some fresh air! It'll be worse if you stay cooped up. Listen, tomorrow night there's a fantastic party at a super cool penthouse in the Eixample district. You can see the whole city at night! There will be a lot of interesting, fashionable people there. I'll introduce you to them, and I promise you'll feel better right away!"
Aria could almost picture Sofia's animated face on the other end of the line. It was this party. In her past life, this was where she was first plied with alcohol, where she "accidentally" revealed her frustration with Lucas's work, where she had her first "public" intimate interaction with a man, leading to the first set of exploitable photos. It was also at this party that she "met" Lucas's friend, the seemingly charming lawyer, Lucas Gallardo (a common name in Spain). The beginning of all her suffering.
"Tomorrow night?" Aria feigned hesitation. "I... I don't know if I'll be well enough."
"You have to come! It's settled!" Sofia didn't give her a chance to refuse. "Eight p.m., I'll text you the address. Dress up pretty, my princess! You need to have some fun! Trust me!"
As soon as she hung up, the fragile look on Aria's face vanished, replaced by an icy calm. The party... maybe it wasn't a problem, but an opportunity. An opportunity to observe Lucas and Sofia up close, and perhaps catch some useful information. Of course, she would never touch any drink she didn't open herself. She would stay absolutely sober, like a spy.
She sat back down at her computer, her gaze even sharper. She had to hurry. She had to find the perfect "igniter" before the party.
Time flew by as she focused on her search and cross-referencing. The sun began to set, casting a warm golden glow over the room, but it could not dispel the coldness that surrounded her. Finally, a small, inconspicuous local news report caught her attention: The "Sunshine Coast" affordable housing project recently completed by Gallardo Construction had received scattered complaints from residents about sound insulation and water leaks. The report downplayed the issue, suggesting the problems were from improper use by the residents.
In her previous life, this project was massively exposed a year later for using substandard materials and shoddy construction, leading to a bribery scandal that was one of the last straws that brought Gallardo Construction down. But for now, everything was well-hidden.
This was it.
A daring plan quickly formed in her mind. She didn't need conclusive proof. She just needed to create "suspicion." She could fabricate email snippets that looked like internal communications, discussing the use of cheap, low-quality materials and mentioning "payments" to relevant inspectors. Then, she could "accidentally" let this "evidence" be "discovered" by the right person.
She began to act, using her decent photo-editing skills and vague memories of Gallardo Construction's internal communication format to meticulously craft the "evidence." Every word, every pixel, was carefully considered. It had to look authentic but not be so specific that it could be easily disproven. This required extreme psychological endurance and focus.
Just as she was fully engrossed, the apartment doorbell suddenly rang.
Aria jumped, her heart leaping. Who would it be? Lucas? He usually wouldn't come over without a heads-up. Sofia? Unlikely. She had just gotten off the phone.
She took a deep breath, forcing herself to calm down. She saved the files she was editing, minimized all the windows, and then went to the door, peeking through the peephole.
Standing outside was a middle-aged man in a well-tailored suit, holding a large bouquet of expensive white roses. He was one of Lucas's private drivers.
"Miss Russell," the driver's voice came through the door, politely. "Mr. Gallardo sent me to bring you flowers and to ask if you are feeling better. He has an important meeting tonight and apologizes for not being able to come."
Aria opened the door, took the beautiful but lifeless white roses, and forced a smile that was just right—a mix of being touched and slightly disappointed. "Thank you, and please tell him I'm feeling much better. Please tell him to just… focus on his work."
As she closed the door, the smile on her face vanished instantly. She looked at the bouquet as if it were a cold snake. In her previous life, she had been fooled by these cheap romantic gestures and empty apologies. She tossed the flowers into the trash with a blank expression, as if they were something dirty.
This small interruption only hardened her resolve. She returned to her computer, her eyes colder and more focused than before. As night deepened, Barcelona began to sleep, but Aria Russell's plan for revenge was quietly awakening in the darkness, growing like a vine, waiting for the moment to strike.